


The Works That Junipers Do

by Palpalou, TheDreadPirate



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 20 years after the fall, 20 years goes by in a flash, Alzheimer's Disease, Assisted Suicide, Fanart, Fanart by @vandrawsing on tumblr, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm crap at tags btw, Italian Endearments, M/M, Male Breast Cancer, Murder Family 2.0, Original Character(s), Post-Season/Series 03, Romance, Romanticism, Suicide, and cancer, and suicide, angsty characters, cuz it's beautiful, double suicide, how are these tags doin ya?, i feel i've entered a vortex where I have to stop myself from rewriting the whole story in tag form, i needed tissues and privacy writing this js, i threw the graphic warning up there but is it really?, i'd say it's ooc, it's all about the hurt/comfort, just a dab of sexy times, just a splash of murder though, major character deaths, mostly feelings stuff, murder fiances murdering on the run, murder granddads, murder husbands stop murdering... cuz i said so?, old gay love, overuse of junipers, romanticized alzheimer's, sap, time jumps galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 19,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palpalou/pseuds/Palpalou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreadPirate/pseuds/TheDreadPirate
Summary: Decades after they fall, the Murder Husbands are more like Murder granddads. The years have flashed in the blink of an eye and time proves healing yet, nonetheless, cruel. However, their love never deteriorates… though Hannibal's mind palace is beginning to crumble, not to mention Will's previous dance with death. They find unexpected kinship in Joaquin, a young man whose own past is steeped in blood and whose future could be molded by the infamous pair, for better or worse. Each member of this unexpected little family finds a sense of peace in the others that they were missing but life isn't always so accommodating in regards to happiness or love.





	1. Prologue - Juniper Tea For Expelling Old Toxins

**Author's Note:**

> First off I have to thank the wonderful Palpalou (@vandrawsing on tumblr). Thank you so much for the beta and the encouragement throughout this journey. You really did help me a lot when I doubted myself. Your art makes me feel so warm and tingly inside too :D
> 
> Also, I must thank @adamrakiblog for the initial beta and always being there if I needed to vent. You're awesome!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya don't mind a little photoshop :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... since the second act of the third season is three years later I'm setting that in the fall of 2017.


	2. Dreaming of Juniper Berries Denotes Prosperity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 12, 2037. 20 years later, a handsome couple meet a special young man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's me trying to write a long thing for the first time. I just hope it makes sense to you ::self-deprecating laugh::
> 
> Italian translations: 
> 
> Caro mio = my dear  
> Tesoro = treasure  
> Ti amo = I love you

Victor and Lloyd Wyman walk into the small village library, tucked somewhere deep in Northern England, unnoticed by the rabble.

They've lived at the old cottage in the wood for several months now but this is their first social outing.

The couple hold hands as they make their way to available seating; one trying to hurry the other as to not draw attention while his husband seems intent to take his time, smirking softly at their anonymity.

They find three unoccupied chairs in the back row yet Victor is still watching the crowd nervously.

"Start the clock, _Lloyd_. You said we’d only stay 15 minutes and we're sticking to it." He whispers, leaning into husband under the guise of tenderness.

The unflappable Mr. Wyman leans back with a slightly more pronounced smile. He takes Victor's hand in his and whispers back that he started the moment they walked in. Victor offers a quick satisfied grin before gifting his obedient husband a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you… _caro mio_." Victor whispers hotly, knowing how his husband misses their time in Italy.

As expected Lloyd inches impossibly closer while still maintaining appropriate decorum for a public space.

“Thank you for indulging my curiosity,” Lloyd replies.

The villagers continue trickling in, never even sparing the newcomers a glance. It settles Victor some, to be overlooked in a crowd.  

He scans the lot, still daring anyone to look back when he spots a young man standing by the entrance with a look so reminiscent to how Victor often feels that his chest aches in empathy. Without thinking he waves, drawing the teenager’s attention to the empty seat to his right. The boy walks over, eyes avoidant.

"Thank you, sir." The young man whispers politely.

"I hate crowds but even small ones like this seem more _intimate_ in the worst way." Victor hadn't intended on making conversation but the kindred ache keeps him buoyed.

The boy looks up but never to the man's eyes. "I didn’t realize I was so obvious."

"Maybe not to them," Victor gestures about the room. "I believe, however, that we share a bit of social anxiety?"

The boy smiles and nods yet is still rigidly uncomfortable in spite of their solidarity. He looks away, lost in thought, encouraging the man to engage him again.

"I’m Victor Wyman." The man says, holding his hand out. "This is my husband, Lloyd."

This civility seems to break through the boy's trance and he shakes Victor's hand and then Lloyd's. "Joaquin Morris… you, you just moved to that old cottage by the river, yeah?"

Victor’s smile is forced. He hopes that the rest of the town isn’t as keen as this young man. "That's correct."

The boy turns away again, blinking rapidly in his awkwardness and Lloyd leans into his husband’s side to whisper, "Another stray, _tesoro_?"

Victor huffs a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes at his husband's choice of words.

The meeting finally starts with 9 minutes of Victor's patience to spare. The local constable begins by detailing the homes that have been burgled during the last three months. Each victim had returned home to find missing electronics and their kitchens raided.

It was obvious that the perpetrators were young. Most likely the very children of the parents in attendance tonight. Victor wasn’t worried in the least about children breaking into their home so he resolved not to tune out of the rest of the meeting.

He looks sidelong at the teenager sitting beside him though. He’s at least six foot, with chestnut skin, short tightly curled hair, a mix of Anglo and Afro facial features, and soft brown eyes. He's nervous yet unaffected by the proceedings.

Victor decides his nervousness was due to the aforementioned anxiety disorder rather than any guilt. He understands how the two can be confused all too well.

The constable gave the assembly assurances that those responsible would be found soon and in the meantime, staying home at night would deter break-ins as well as being vigilant etcetera, etcetera.

Lloyd stood precisely when the 15 minutes were up. He helped his husband to his feet and they made a quick retreat from the building, ignored by all except Joaquin.

Victor glances back to the boy whose nervousness was forgotten for a moment as their eyes finally meet. Victor might have stopped in his tracks were it not for his husband's well-practiced ability to remove them from situations.

They held each other's gaze until they couldn't. Victor squeezed his husband's hand as he wondered about the boy with eyes identically different to his own.

\---

It's a leisurely drive from the town's center to their home, the time spent in comfortable silence as Victor drives and Lloyd’s hand rests on his thigh.

He parks the Bentley in the garage alongside his husband’s latest bike; a Triumph Scrambler that he hasn’t ridden in well over a year.

Victor has barely shut the engine off before Lloyd is leaping out and hurrying to his side to help him from the car. Victor sighs in his usual exasperation at his husband’s coddling but accepts the hand and is led inside.

They break off to their separate tasks. Lloyd heads to the kitchen to prepare a simple tomato bisque and crusty garlic bread for dinner while Victor checks on the dogs and then builds a fire in the dining room.

Afterwards, the dogs are let in, the dishes are done and they all move to the parlor where Victor reads a novel and Lloyd plays his viola while the dogs 'dance' to his tune.

They have just two dogs now. Both service animals Lloyd had given Victor to lift his spirits during chemotherapy. They did their jobs above and beyond Lloyd’s expectations and were hence allowed to sleep inside the rest of their lives. Not in their bed of course; Lloyd had his limits.

They lounge until the fire puts itself out, their usual cue to lock up and retire for the night. They all head upstairs. The dogs hustle to settle in their lavish four-poster dog bed; another gift from Lloyd for being such good girls.

Victor meets his husband in the bathroom where they begin their nightly routine. They shower quickly together, sharing the hot water before stepping to the double sinks. Lloyd applies face cream and teasingly swipes some onto Victor who feigns a grimace. Lloyd smiles and wipes it away, he loves the lines etched into his partner's flesh.

They don't bother with pajamas as they climb into bed. They hold each other chest to chest, kissing slowly.

No tears are shed now as they once were when Victor was first diagnosed with breast cancer. When their world had first begun spinning off its axis, with nothing they could do but wait and hope.

Those threats are long gone yet the ritual remains.

They rarely speak of their pasts out loud anymore. Nevertheless, they are ever inescapable. Manifested in scars like manuscripts engraved in their flesh, chronicling their secrets, their truths.

They don't need to speak of it because the truth is evident and constant; Hannibal shall always be Hannibal and Will shall always be Will.

They whisper their love to each other with their lips but also with soft caresses and intensity in their eyes. Drifting off to sleep, they whisper names that only they’ve called one another in the last 20 years.

“ _Ti amo_ , Hannibal.”

“ _Ti amo_ , Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	3. Interlude: The Smell of Fresh Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five months earlier...

"I'm starting to believe we chose this place solely for the Junipers," Will says frowning thoughtfully as they walk among the large bushy trees, their spiny branches reaching, waiting to prick them should they get too close. Hannibal isn't worried as he examines the branches, discerning the males from the females whose twigs are heavy with tiny blue fruit.

Hannibal hides a smile from his husband's knowing gaze. “In the UK their numbers have been dwindling for some time now, thankfully here they are rather abundant. Their berries are famous for flavoring gin but do well in sauces and liqueurs as well."

Will only nods, waiting, knowing his husband is far from done.

“The wood itself is aromatic and can be used for smoking food or carving. Then, of course, the medicinal properties; using the oil produced from the cones, which present as berries, can soothe various digestive issues. Of course, ingesting the wrong berry or too much of it can prove toxic."

 Will shakes his head because of course Hannibal would surround them with healthy poison.

"However, we can’t merely consider the practical applications of the noble juniperus communis…”

“I don’t see why we would,” Will whispers cheekily.

“…because their symbolic nature outshines even their literal fruits.” Hannibal smiles indulgently at his husband, taking Will’s hand as they continue walking.

“They represent a great journey. A campaign fraught with much peril yet with the favorable result of the pilgrim staying true to themselves, never having compromised their integrity along the way.”

Will had nothing smart to say to that. He only gazed lovingly at his sentimental husband. Hannibal’s throat, in turn, tightens at the emotion in Will’s eyes.

“They also symbolize protection, health, love… and I believe they not only ward off evil spirits but are meant to halt the spread of poisons and disease…” Will couldn’t take anymore. He threw his arms around Hannibal cutting off whatever else the tree was capable of doing or depicting.

After a long embrace, Will pulls back first to grin. “What about the Grimm fairy tale, of murder and cannibalism? That certainly must have factored in.”

Hannibal only laughs as he leads his husband back inside their new home where he'll get straight to work filling his husband with juniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	4. The Juniper Survives Well in Harsh Environments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joaquin reflects on the town meeting.

"Dinner was lovely, Gran," Joaquin says in a loud voice with a big smile. He's told her plenty of times that she needn't worry about feeding him. But the 85-year-old woman is still mystically spry and determined to prepare him at least one meal a day; plus, he just can’t say no to her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"You're welcome, Keen." Her smile is slow but just as lovely as she is. She wears an iron straight, dark brown wig that bobs at her chin. Her skin is just a shade darker than his and he loves their contrasting melanin when they sit close together to talk about her life growing up in Georgia. Her face is somehow smooth alongside the deep grooves of age at her mouth and eyes.

Gran calls him Keen ‘cuz that’s what he is’, or so she says. Only she pronounces it more like ‘Kin’ which is fine because he can’t get enough of her Southern drawl, so unique to the typical dialects of England. He loves his great-grandmother for everything that makes her, her.

They settle down in the TV room to chat about the town hall and the constables advice and vow to catch the criminals. Joaquin makes his own promise assuring his gran needn’t worry. She chuckles and calls him a good boy for taking such great care of her.

She's in bed by 10, as usual, allowing him to begin his nightly ritual. He goes from room to room, securing the house as his mind goes back to the village meeting earlier that day.

He can still feel the anxiousness that settled in his chest on the walk over. The moment he stepped into the tiny library he knew there were far more bodies than the 50-person capacity sign allows. And as if the mass of people and warmth weren't enough everyone was talking, loudly.

He thought of his Gran as he scanned the crowd for an available seat, comforting himself by thinking of how happy his sacrifice would make her.

His nerves sizzled under his skin when he felt the townsfolk's' eyes upon him. He knew what they saw. The awkward orphan lurking at the door like a wraith. He almost resolved to stay where he is until he spotted an old man waving him over to the empty seat beside him. Joaquin waved back on instinct and headed over before he could allow the fresh wave of anxiety to settle in and keep him rooted.

Joaquin avoided the looks and the people throwing them the best he could. He sat down and quickly thanked the man, stealing a glance to see who had taken pity on him. To his surprise, the man starts chatting with him.

He sounded North American and immediately Joaquin imagined him to be another refugee who fled the States during 'The Great Migration of 2020'. Trump, the now disgraced former president, had not only instigated the third World War but brought terror and disharmony to his own nation.

Joaquin's own family had immigrated from America too. His mother's parents became too afraid of the growing climate of unrest and opted to flee the states once ally countries began offering asylum. He and Gran are all that's left of their family now but he doesn’t like to think of that too often.

He thinks about the man who called him over and how _different_ he seemed from everyone else. Was it merely his appearance? The cool undertones that make the sun-tinted pink of his cheeks pop all the more? His greying hair, his wrinkles multiplying when he smiles, or his multi-colored beard? Joaquin had gotten lost in thought when he considered the thick-framed glasses and their purpose as they hide his bright blue eyes and the way his curls framed his face, making him look younger once Joaquin got closer.

His partner has a warmer complexion. There are patches of hyper-pigmentation under his prominent cheekbones but the bronze of his skin only makes it look like blush over a gently wrinkled face. His hair hung loose but tidy just above his ears, looking natural yet at the same time purposefully dyed silver and grey. He smiled at Joaquin as well, not nearly as genuine and warm as Victor had but the attempt was duly noted.

Mr.'s Victor and Lloyd Wyman live by the river his mother Sonja would take him to feed ducklings as a child. Just the association leaves a pang in his heart for the woman he barely had a chance to know.

Joaquin abandons the perusal of memories in order to check in on his Gran before locking her door. Both of their rooms have attached bathrooms which makes it much easier to batten down the hatches.

He locks himself in his room as well and then retrieves the double barrel shotgun from beneath his bed. He sits down heavily on the old twin mattress, shotgun across his lap, and resumes thinking about the newcomers.

They seemed so happy, loving in a way that was unfamiliar to him but beautiful nonetheless. Effortless yet honest is what it was and Joaquin coveted the mere idea that he could love and be loved in such a way.

His grandpa had died when he was six years old; complications from early onset dementia. His grandma Pearl was left alone to not only raise Joaquin but care for his mother who was still just a child herself and for his aging Gran whose husband Joaquin had never even met.

And then there was his own father, Jon. The reason they’d moved to this small village in the first place; to escape him.

He’d never seen a happy moment between his parents. They did nothing but fight throughout his young life until his grandma Pearl came one night to take them to safety. As a child, he thinks he must have seen some love from his father at one point but in the end, he saw only blood.

He shakes off the troubling memories a final time to focus on breaking the action on his shotgun. He loads a shell into each barrel before locking it and turning on the safety. He lays it atop his nightstand, the business end pointing at the door. He lies down and has a mini panic attack which is ok, it happens most nights. He only has to focus on his breathing and complete his ritual. He says aloud to the quiet room:

"I am not afraid of what I can't control. This is my home and I will do what I must to protect myself and my family. I am not afraid of what I can’t…"

He'll repeat this mantra over and over until he breathes easier. Until he no longer hears heirlooms being smashed in the downstairs of his memory.

He goes to sleep quickly after that, so exhausted from all the day's worries. But he'll sleep easy, confident in his ability to kill anyone who tries to harm them. He's been ready and waiting for years now after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	5. For Burning During Evocations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk through precious memories.

The day after the town meeting, Hannibal awoke with melancholy heavy in his chest. Will was still asleep and thankfully unfettered by his usual fitful slumber, leaving Hannibal free to dedicate the morning to his own devices.

He lets the dogs out, stepping around them as they gently tussle on the porch before making his way to the confines of their property. Once, he might have been checking for weaknesses at their gates but no such structures exist here, whether figurative or literal. Now only juniper trees stand sentinel over them.

He inspects random branches, gathering some of their berries into a handkerchief, a calming practice that often delivers him safely into thoughts of their journey to this place.

\---

To say Will had turned his world upside down would be a gross understatement. It had taken far too long for Hannibal to see this as something worthwhile if not meant to be, rather than the catastrophe he’d first predicted.

Yes, the changes in his life were all due to Will Graham but Hannibal finds as time goes on, as his joints ache and his hair thins, that he can't seem to regret one of them.

After their escape from the bluff, they shed their respective pasts and sought to create, not only new identities but new realities.

Though news outlets claimed the FBI had stopped their search, Hannibal decided to behave as if Jack were hot on their trail indefinitely. He had far more precious companionship this time and he wouldn't lose Will so easily ever again.

They made their way first to Cuba, where Hannibal had access to a small bank account, for a quiet year of restoration.

Hannibal had managed to convince Will to let his mind heal as well, encouraging him to not dwell on their past, it being a moot point now that they were on the lamb. Will agreed easily and Hannibal felt invigorated with the return of his control, however briefly.

He had been smug for months with the dominion he held over Will until he was made to realize he never had it. Rather, he misread the other man's acquiescence. It was trust that Will had given him after they escaped together. Many had trusted him over the years to their own folly but they were nothing like his Will.

Will Graham knows, sees Hannibal like no one has before. Not by Bedelia who so desperately wanted to understand but when offered a glimpse she balked. Even his Aunt Murasaki who knew the entirety of his past wasn't able to accept him.

Hannibal's satisfaction hadn't lasted long once he fully understood the significance of Will allowing him back into his mind. He might not ever regret the actions taken to this point but he can appreciate the strength, or maybe even love, that Will must have had to open himself up again.

After Cuba, they made their way to Argentina and were able to once again call each other friend. It was finally in Buenos Aires that they killed together and it had felt like a balm to Hannibal; Will had finally accepted his becoming.

True euphoria was bestowed on Hannibal after Will picked a man himself. The offspring of Nazis who escaped the demise of the Third Reich. A supremacist himself with a penchant for brutalizing women of color; a pig through and through.

After weeks of planning and lying in wait, a courtship in Hannibal's mind, they came to an agreement on how best to 'take care' of their particular swine. Will's dark empathy demanded retribution, not only for the slain women but for all who are victims of Naziism.

They kept the vile creature in his own cellar, starved at first and then gorged on his own flesh. They didn’t partake themselves as the thought turned Will's stomach. Hannibal found he enjoyed the pleasure of killing with Will far greater than his appetite.

The murderous duo was in the cargo hold of a massive ship sailing with trade goods to South Africa by the time authorities found their project. He was found surrounded by his precious Third Reich memorabilia, sans tongue, feet, hands, genitals, nose, ears, eyes… Hundreds of incisions and festering sores littered his excrement covered body. Later, Hannibal would learn from the internet that the local police thought the man dead until the body suddenly started writhing in agony that would never cease.

All told, they left five similar bodies in Argentina; their own fruitful sounder that thinned the herd and kept their figurative monster’s fed.

At first, Hannibal hadn’t appreciated the toll it might take on Will. He began to awaken from nightmares drenched in sweat, shivering, and staring at the specters of the men they’d 'changed'. It began to worry him that Will might come to his senses and leave but his friend remained, quietly tortured yet present.

They continued on their journey through the heart of Africa stumbling upon more pigs to be culled and even a few people to be helped; dalliances Hannibal encouraged as they worked to set Will at greater ease.

By the time they reached the top of the continent, Hannibal was effervescent at finally having his cake and being able to partake of it while Will was bridled with conflicting emotions regarding murder and justice.

Hannibal's hadn't thought twice of his plan to ferry them from Tunisia to Italy but with their ever-growing bond, Hannibal questioned himself. How would Will react to being in the place he had once intended to kill him? Would he be angry at the chance they were taking in El Mostro's old stomping grounds?

However, Will only shrugged when Hannibal asked.

"I trust you to take care of us." He'd said.

Again, this wasn't the blind trust that he was so used to. Will knew him not only as the fiend that stalked the rude but as the companion who nursed him to health and kept him fed and held him when the nightmares grew too intense. He vowed to never be so cavalier concerning Will's trust again.

The last of the fears he harbored, that Will would leave, were gone. Exsanguination. That's what it felt like. His body drained and then satisfyingly filled with Will Graham.

He finds them a small house by the sea, that is much more like a hut in his opinion, but he watches Will's contented face as they tour it and he's ready to sacrifice his comforts once again. It’s simple and quiet and it's here that more boundaries are demolished between them. It's here that their lips meet for the first time of many.

Hannibal holds nothing back anymore in an attempt to have Will disclose his innermost thoughts as well. It was a slow process but eventually Will stops seeing his 'victims', he stops screaming himself awake, he allows Hannibal to become the anchor he’d once promised.

They both accepted their fates, in a way. Will embraced the darkest parts of himself but only after Hannibal demonstrated, unafraid, the restraint of respect, the power of empathy.

Five years finds the pair stalking a sow who'd beaten her own child to death. Killing with his partner was ever the delight but they spared the theatrics as Will called them, no tableau for this pig. Their work was mostly in Rome and spoke for itself, exposing the true nature of the swine in a way that had few people mourning their loss or looking too hard for perpetrators.

After the kill they walked home arm in arm with the scent of blood in their nostrils, when they passed a church with a large crowd gathered outside. Two women stepped out in beautiful cream dresses to the cheers of their loved ones. One of the missus' spotted the pair on the sidewalk, giving them a big happy grin and beckoning them to join the crowd. Will, reluctant as ever but Hannibal happy to partake in a stranger's life, they stood as both brides faced away and then tossed their bouquets over their shoulders. One flew far but the bride who had spotted them, her flowers traveled straight to Will.

Hannibal had looked delighted, Will exasperated, making comments about becoming ‘murder husbands’ and fulfilling Freddie's tacky prophecy. But Hannibal didn't push. He did keep those flowers, dried, making some excuse that Will never believed and that they can't even recall now.

They married the following year.

They were witnessed by unknown parishioners of the same progressive church but it was perfect. Hannibal made sure their suits were immaculate; he cooked their wedding meal himself. Will was in charge of the rings and didn’t disappoint his new spouse with his craftiness with metal work.

Life was good then. Hannibal stayed home and lived an indulgent life of good food and fine art and the occasional covert foray into the public while Will worked part-time at the docks, welding mostly, and able to fish to his heart's content.

Three weeks after their fourth wedding anniversary, Will became sick. A trifle they had thought. A trifle that turned out to be cancer and 18 months of the worst hell Hannibal has ever known.

He watched as his husband deteriorated before his eyes with nothing much for him to do but watch. There was nothing he could manipulate, no one he could kill to make this right so they waited… time slowed down as they waited out the chemo to shrink the tumor found in Will's right breast.

It slowed further as Hannibal sat in a waiting room instead of operating on or even observing Will himself. Hannibal had relinquished that control of his own accord to both of their surprises. He'd never removed cancer tissue from a male breast before, it being so rare. All he could do was vet the doctors and then make subtle threats to their very lives should Will come to harm.

But he came out alive, pained but happy to be home and in bed where he belonged.

They were tentative for a while. Stopped hunting indefinitely. Hannibal doted on Will like never before, rewarding him with his time and love in ways that had Will questioning Hannibal's own wellness.

These memories are still vivid and raw in his memory palace. Their ache very real whenever he chooses to walk through them. But his newer memories… those have been fading or have vanished entirely.

It's been two years since Hannibal first noticed the memory loss. A year and a half since he suggested to Will that they move somewhere quieter. They were getting too old to constantly look over their shoulder in Italy, he'd said. They should retire to Great Britain, to a more secluded countryside.

Will had been skeptical of course, thinking Hannibal wouldn't be able to survive the country life but Will indulged him nonetheless. Especially since he's wanted a nice piece of land to run to for years now. So, they settle in a quiet little village in the north.

Hannibal's conditioned grows steadily worse but he plans to hide it for as long as possible for the same reason he hasn't hunted in years; Will.

\---

Hannibal finishes gathering his berries and heads back to the house to start breakfast for his lover. He prepares steel-cut oatmeal, mixing in the juniper berries he macerates with sugar.

He thinks of the finite number of days left before he starts to show signs of his dementia. Will is going to find out eventually then Hannibal will die and Will shall be alone.

And that is what worries him the most. Not the molding of his treasured tapestries nor the dying of flowers in his palaces foyer.

He’s becoming terrified of the passage of time. How long does he have until he forgets Will? And what fresh hell will that bring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	6. Interlude: Incendiary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazy October...

"Oh fuck!" Will cries out, gripping Hannibal's still strong shoulders tightly before collapsing back against their foam intimacy wedge panting loudly. Hannibal's breathing is labored too but you’d never know from his grin.

Will's eyes crack open, huffing a laugh at his husband's smug expression. Hannibal swoops in to lick the sweat from Will's neck and kiss the age spots gathering at his shoulders. They lay in the soft afterglow of coitus, enjoying the warmth they’ve earned and the sound of rain hitting their bedroom window.

Will abruptly wriggles himself free and off the bed while Hannibal reclines back, folding his hands beneath his head, watching his lover dress.

"I recall a time when we would spend an entire rainy day in bed." Hannibal gingerly stands as well, moving to wrap his arms around Will’s waist, tucking his chin at his neck.

"I've been meaning to get out to the hothouse all week. I've gotta get the green beans and onions in the dirt." Will says, leaning back and kissing Hannibal's cheek.

"I suppose that's a good enough reason to leave this room." Hannibal capitulates. "Shall I join you?"

"Yes, I'd like that." Will smiles.

"Perhaps you could take your special pill and by the time we finish our chore… you can return my earlier attentions?" Hannibal says this with a joy he's only ever shown Will and it never fails to entice him to acquiesce.

"Now that is an even better idea."

\---

Hours later when night has fallen, the rain is still going strong and they are back in bed. They face each other, arms alternating holding and roaming, as they often do. Soothing the aches earned during their lovemaking.

Will tucks his face between their shared pillow and Hannibal's cheek, lips caressing the shell of his ear as he softly sings the words to his favorite Conway Twitty song.

 _"Deep in your smile there's a quiet, soft desire_  
_Like the ember of a once raging fire_  
_You know I could light that fire again_  
_You know it isn't wise_  
_I see the want to in your eyes"_

Hannibal smiles throughout, enjoying his husband's soft voice even if this was a song about a woman 'looking to cheat on her man' as Will had first explained it to him.

This part of their ritual, Will’s singing, started just a few years ago and it makes the experience feel more complete; they are wholly themselves like this.

Will finishes his song and then Hannibal remembers something that Will said earlier.

"Did you still wish to go to the garden?" He asks as he nibbles at Will's throat.

His husband lifts his head to smile. "We did, _caro_. I planted the onions and you had the green beans."

"Ah. Yes of course. I was wondering if there were more seeds to sow tomorrow." Hannibal said, looking intensely.

Will's eyes widen in order to stop them from narrowing in suspicion.

"No. Not for another month." He smiles sweetly at his husband. Hannibal has no reason to lie so he must have simply forgotten. Will tucks his head back beside his husband with a huge grin; Hannibal's age is finally catching up with him.

Hannibal meanwhile studies his breathing in order to remain calm in Will's arms. His condition is worsening and soon his lover will know. But until then he runs his hands over Will's back, leaning in to catch his ear with his teeth while whispering his own words:

 _“Nature’s first green is gold,_  
_Her hardest hue to hold._  
_Her early leaf’s a flower;_  
_But only so an hour._  
_Then leaf subsides to leaf._  
_So Eden sank to grief,_  
_So dawn goes down to day._  
_Nothing gold can stay.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	7. Juniper Oil to Stimulate the Brain

Hannibal steps into the small market and makes quick work of gathering ingredients for a curry to go with Will's carp he caught for supper.

He leaves the store and heads to the parking lot, pulling up short when he sees a car, not his own, where he thought he had parked. He holds worry at bay and resolves to walk around the lot with his groceries.

Only he doesn't find his car. He searches for the keys in his pockets but comes up empty. Panic wants to seep in but he remembers his breathing. _It's fine. You didn't bring the car, that's fine._

"Mr. Wyman?" Hannibal whips around to glare at the young man trying for his attention. "Are you alright sir?"

Hannibal's expression softens when he sees the honest concern in the boy's eyes. He wants to respond but he can't. He doesn't know what to say with secrets swirling at the forefront of his mind so he just keeps staring.

"Have you misplaced your car, sir?" the boy says in a clear, earnest tone.

Hannibal only nods.

"Maybe I can help you carry your things home then, you're just a kilometer or so up the road. Would that be ok with you, sir?" the boy is terribly courteous and that does manage to put Hannibal at ease if only slightly.

He nods and releases some of the bags to his new aid. The young man starts walking and Hannibal follows behind.

Ten minutes into their trek Hannibal finally pushes aside the anxiety that had stolen his voice. “Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Wyman." The young man says with a slight smile.

“Once we reach my home I can give you a ride back to yours.” Hannibal offers and the young man accepts thankfully.

It's finally as they approach the house and he sees the car parked where he left it that bits of his memory come back. He'd wanted to walk and pick up only a few items for Christmas dinner. He looks down at the six bags he and the boy carry between them and holds in a painful sigh at what he could have possibly bought.

They step up to the door and Will is already there to open it, looking pleasantly surprised.

"It appears I went on an unintended shopping spree. This young man was kind enough to help me in exchange for a ride home." Hannibal offers what he hopes is a reasonably sheepish smile but it isn't enough to stop the concern from twitching at Will's eyes.

"Would you bring those to the kitchen?" Hannibal asks the boy. It's a cheap excuse, using him to stave off his husband's questions but Hannibal is still reeling from the chunk of time he lost. He needs a few minutes more to better prepare for this conversation.

"Thank you," Will says kindly to the young man as they all walk inside. It's disgusting how relieved Hannibal feels to at least be able to find the kitchen himself.

They set the groceries on the counter and then Joaquin asks to use the restroom, sensing the growing tension.

Will and Hannibal look at each other silently, intently until the bathroom door clicks shut.

"We've been avoiding a conversation. I haven't tried to figure out what it is because I wanted you to tell me.” Will swallows thickly, licking his dry lips; the worry grows heavier in his chest. “Are you ready to do that now?"

Hannibal takes one more deep breath before letting it all out. "I've been increasingly forgetful for a while now. I went to the store to buy a few things for our supper but when I left I had all of this and thought I lost the car. Luckily the boy came upon me."

Will nods his understanding, face placid but hinting at tension. "Do you remember that we met him, Joaquin, at the village meeting a couple months back?"

Hannibal's lets out a soul weary breath at the realization that he had indeed forgotten the boy. "I do now."

"It's ok, isn't it Hannibal? You're 68, it's normal to forget things…" He trails off after looking at the truth written plainly on his husband's face.

"Dementia?" He whispers the word like a curse.

“Most likely Alzheimer’s,” Hannibal whispers in response.

Will catches himself on the island counter as emotion swells. His eyes tear and he bites his lips to hold back useless denials and platitudes. Suddenly he launches himself at Hannibal and holds him tight.

"I'm so sorry Hannibal."

He wants to say more but it's all too much, too suddenly. Will knows that Hannibal's greatest strength has always been his mind and if that is going to deteriorate his husband will be a shell of his former magnificence.

Hannibal pulls back to gently run his hands over his lover's face, catching some of his tears before they continue to wet his sweater. Will bites his tongue to stop himself from saying anything stupid like _It'll be ok._ Or _we'll figure this out together_. It was all useless, **he** was useless. Hannibal will have to go through this in his own mind and Will can only watch.

"Please, Will. I'm not completely beyond myself just yet." Hannibal’s smile is quite wide and clearly an attempt to calm Will. He smiles back, apologizing for getting ahead of himself.

"You are beautiful in your concern, _caro mio_. I'm lucky to have it directed at me." He cups Will's soft, bearded cheeks.

Will rolls his eyes but the gravity of this settles once more on his mind.

"You said for a while now…" Will asks without asking. Hannibal takes another steadying breath before he releases it.

"Two years. I took it upon myself to get tests done outside of Salerno. I… didn’t want you to worry unnecessarily."

Will's handsome, worried face goes slack and his eyes hold a touch of terror to them the way Hannibal yearned for when they killed together. He isn’t afraid of it being directed at him like this but it’s the sting of betrayal in Will's eyes, palpable in the kitchen, that fills him with despair.

"Two… years? Worry unnec- Hannibal, I can’t believe you..." Will grits out. He doesn’t want to be angry with him for being ill but he’s making it easy nonetheless.

"I… I'm sorry to interrupt b-but I'm going to head home now." Joaquin appears from around the corner, looking sheepishly at the floor and truly sorry for interrupting them. Will takes a step back from the situation at hand to face their guest.

"Nothing to be sorry for Joaquin. Thank you for helping my husband. You've restored my faith in young people." Will tries to smile but it's painful to do so.

He grabs the car keys from where they hang beside the back door and tells Joaquin he'll give him that ride home if he still wants one.

They all walk to the door and Hannibal feels fear, foreign yet hauntingly familiar, settle in his gut. Will must notice because he pulls Hannibal into a strong hug, whispering his love and then kisses him softly on the lips. "We're damn well talking about this when I get back." He threatens/promises.

"Of course, _tesoro mio_." Hannibal sighs in relief as he watches them drive away before heading back to the kitchen to discover what he bought at the grocers.

\---

"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Wyman. I'm just a few streets over from the library." The air is tense even inside the luxury vehicle.

"That's fine," Will says terser than he intended. "Can you tell me what happened at the market, with… with Mr. Wyman?"

"He looked very lost, almost frightened. He was looking for his car but it felt like something more." Joaquin was thoughtful for a moment. "He reminded me of my granddad… at the end of his life."

Joaquin looked over to see Will nodding.

"Maybe it's something else though.” Joaquin supplies hopefully. “He might have eaten something…"

Will is still nodding, looking thoughtful himself. "I really wish it were."

They arrive at their destination quickly but Joaquin stays seated, making a decision.

"I don't mean to pry but if you like, if you need it, I might be able to help. Not to say you won't be able to manage but… I know what it's like."

Will isn't nodding this time. Instead, he turns to look at the young man next to him as tears threaten to fall.

"Thank you, Joaquin. That's incredibly kind." He offers a watery smile and an awkward pat on the arm.

"I'm just not sure what to do myself." Will presses a fist to his mouth to keep his emotions contained.

"My nana told me we all went through five stages of loss just hearing my granddads diagnosis. Loss gets easier to accept over time but no less painful." Will nods at that. He really does like this boy.

"Too true." Will smiles easier this time. He thanks Joaquin again and then waits for him to get inside before taking off. The kinship he feels with the young man is welcome but it doesn’t quell the ache that's already settled deep within.

\---

Joaquin eats dinner with his Gran in a hurry tonight; shutting the house up quickly. He locks himself in his room before turning on his old tablet, typing in the name ‘Hannibal’. The first article is something he could never have predicted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	8. The Juniper Tree: A Grim Tale

Joaquin hadn't been able to sleep that night. After reading everything he could find about Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham and the lives they affected, infected, took; he stayed up, tense and with a familiar purpose as he patrolled his home, shotgun in hand.

He imagined them coming in, the unstoppable creatures written about before he was even born. He imagines killing them but it doesn't sit right. It's not nearly as satisfying as when he imagines the creature he's been preparing for all these years at the end of his gun; his own father.

He barely knows the pair but Mr. Wyman had been so frightened in the most tragically familiar way. Joaquin's throat ached as it forced a memory of his grandfather to the forefront of his mind. He could tell that Mr. Wy- that Hannibal was a strong-willed man even before he read devastating words like murderer, serial killer, cannibal.   

Only they weren't really as devastating as they should have been.

He just couldn't reconcile the vision of loving granddads with the pictures of the supposedly psychotic killers on the internet. He'd only talked to them the once but it was that singular meeting that had him yearning for what they possessed, what he saw as true love.

The sun finally rose after that long night, chasing away the darkness along with the last of his fears. He wanted to see them again, as soon as possible, because he had to see for himself.

It was self-destructive, he knew that as he walked to their home the following week. He was scared out of his mind of course but not from the potential danger. He had to at least know if they were as unfeeling as the articles had said; he needed to know if love was all a lie.

Many of the articles said that Will was not only framed for the Chesapeake Ripper's (aka Hannibal, aka Lloyd Wyman) murders, he was also his victim on more than one occasion.

It was all so confusing even though it was documented so plainly. This Hannibal was a monster. He must have been pure evil. And he'd hurt Vic- Will terribly. Joaquin wanted nothing more than to understand why a victim would stay with their abuser; how could love grow there?

Will had looked pleasantly surprised that Joaquin had shown up to deliver on his offer of help. He was invited to stay for supper which just happened to be the first home cooked dinner he’s had in years that wasn't a sandwich. It ended with pots de crème drizzled with honey and juniper berries, Hannibal explaining to them tree's importance to the Hopi people in North America.

The visit had been exactly what Joaquin fantasized about before he learned their pasts. It was so… human, for lack of a better word. He'd need more time to 'investigate', he decided.

It wasn't until after he'd gotten home that he remembered what Hannibal Lecter was famous for cooking with.

Even that didn't deter him. He trusted them and they began trusting him too. He quickly grew accustomed to heading to their home after school and even on weekends to play with the dogs and do light chores. He felt bad about leaving his Gran home alone but he’d found an unexpected solace with ‘Victor and Lloyd’ that he couldn't shake; that he easily ignored their secrets in exchange for.

He liked being witness to the way they loved each other.

There was arguing between them at times, of course, but he never saw them become violent. Lloyd’s illness began to reveal more of itself but the man was bent on being proactive. They began preserving memories, writing notes and taking pictures to hang around the cottage.

Soon enough, they invite Joaquin and even his Gran to dinner at least twice a week. Victor snares her heart after he shares his collection of records; albums that make her feel like a girl again. And of course, Lloyd wins her over by way of her taste buds.

Joaquin often goes back to read those articles. He wonders if he'll ever feel disgusted about their pasts. He wonders if the reason he doesn't feel bad is that he too is a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so Keen continues thinking of the murder dads as the Wyman's. 
> 
> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	9. Junipers Can Be Blue Too

The reckless happiness Joaquin enjoyed after befriending the Wymans is shattered mid-April. After school on a Wednesday, he stops by the Wyman's to feed the dogs and bake with Lloyd; doctors recommended familiar activities to stimulate his mind and Joaquin has come enjoy it. He arrives home just as the sun is setting, to a quiet house. Usually, his gran could be found in the kitchen just finishing his sandwiches or in the sitting room watching her programs.

The quiet is disconcerting as he makes his way to her bedroom where he finds her lying down as if taking a late nap. Only he knows better. He knows as he walks to the bed to sit down next to her, that she is gone. She has been for several hours judging by the coolness of her wrist.

He feels the hurt build and grow deep in his chest as he waits for the tears to come. He finds a phone resting in his palm and is dialing before he registers who it is he’s calling.

“Joaquin? Are you alright?” Victor’s voice is concerned after a prolonged pause and it makes Joaquin's eyes ache but still, no tears will fall.

\---

His Gran has been gone three weeks now and Joaquin hasn't cried once. After his mum and grandma were murdered he'd been worried that his tears would never stop. Looking back he attributes his emotionality to not only mourning his loved ones but suffering PTSD from the ordeal as well.

Tears won’t fall but a numbness settles over him instead. The Wymans help with the funeral arrangements; a very intimate affair since his Gran had no friends and no family left but him.

The two of them stop over to drop off food and various supplies for the house. Victor asks him many times if he wanted to come stay with them for a while but Joaquin just can't even entertain the thought of leaving his family home. It's the reason his grandparents had moved here and the very place most of his loved ones have died.

Even as Joaquin becomes more and more closed off, the Wyman's continue to help and support him any way they can like ensuring that the house is in Joaquin's name and that any money his family had goes into his bank account.

Eventually, Victor stops looking at him like he wants to pick him up and carry him to safety. Instead, he invites Joaquin on fishing trips to the nearby river. It's simple moments like these that encourage Joaquin to redefine home and even family; that have him feeling less numb with every cast of his fishing rod.

It's on one of their trips at the end of spring that Victor decides that it's time to try something different.

“I don’t want to say that I know what you’re going through. It’s a ridiculous sentiment and ludicrous to assume one can truly know another’s pain… that being said, I can empathize. I just wanted you to know that you can always talk to me about whatever’s on your mind.”

Joaquin looks at him, brow furrowed in defiance. “Have you ever seen a family member die?”

Victor’s head whips up at the question. He looks back to the water as he casts his line.

“There was a girl who felt like a daughter to me. She… was killed in front of me.” Victor breathes out his anxiety at thinking of Abigail again after all these years. The pain dulled over the years but never really went away.

Joaquin stops winding his fishing line, wondering how far 'Victor's' honesty will go. “How?”

Victor avoids looking back at Joaquin. “Her throat was cut.” He whispers.

Joaquin finishes reeling and then casts again.

“My mother and grandmother were killed in front of me when I was ten.” Joaquin tries to say this as a matter of fact; disgusted with himself yet again for no longer expressing human emotions.

Victor drops his chin to his chest closing his eyes and he can see a ten year Joaquin crying as quiet as possible, choked with fear, and trying not to attract the attention of his murderous father.

He swallows back the bile threatening to rise. It’s been so long since he’s let the pendulum swing, years since he and Lloyd have hunted, but this was different. Joaquin and his family are different.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He says with more sincerity than he’s felt for anyone outside of Lloyd or their dogs in a long time. They stand in silence, casting and reeling until Joaquin is ready to talk again.

“Most people want to know how and by whom.” Is all he says.

“It’s your story to tell if you want to.” Will responds.

“You’re not even curious?”

Victor smiles sardonically, “My husband is the curious one. I’m better at educated guessing.”

“Is that something you learned at the FBI or is it a natural ability?” Joaquin says with a bite.

Victor sighs at that. “How did-“

“Hannibal. I heard you call Lloyd Hannibal that night I helped him home. That’s all I needed.”

“It is a rather infamous name, isn’t it?” Victor is reeling his line in and trying to decide where this is going. He would do anything to protect his family and Joaquin was beginning to feel a part of that which made this all the more difficult to navigate.

“That was four months ago. What’s stopped you from bringing it up til now?”

“At first I couldn’t believe it. Lloyd didn’t seem like the monster every article painted him as but it was you that made me want to know more. The articles say you were his victim. That he likely took you and ate you as he did all the others. I wanted to know why you went with him, why you’ve stayed all this time. How you could love a man who killed the girl who was like a daughter to you?”

Victor’s mouth drops open at the sharp words. They are all valid questions but ones he never thought he’d have to answer outside of his own mind. He needs time to process everything so he deflects a little.

“Aren’t you afraid, Joaquin?” He knows in this moment Hannibal would offer a spine-chilling threat but he can’t do that to this boy, especially not when this discussion feels like it's leading up to a 'suicide by cop' situation.

“I was afraid at first, but you both made me feel… so welcome. It was selfish I know, to want to be included in what I saw as a happy family. But now… look, if you have to kill me for finding out could you at least answer my questions first?”

It feels like a confirmation of his worries but Will doesn’t try to calm Joaquin’s fears. Instead, he does something that his husband is often guilty of; he allows his curiosity to see where this goes.

“I went with him because it felt like the only option I had. I’d tried for three years to live without him and it felt like constantly drowning, on a good day. He understood me like no one ever has and that’s something I never thought I’d get in my life. So, when we were presented the opportunity to run away, the second time, I took it.

“I stayed with him because being with him felt good and after almost 40 years of doing for others, I wanted to be selfish. It took some doing but we became friends. I've had experiences I would never have known if not for him. Not just adventures in the physical world but something almost on a spiritual level. Being with another person and not feeling the need to hide anything... it's heady. We can talk to each other without fear and I’ve never had that and I grew to crave it, to need it like oxygen.”

“As far as… Abigail.” Will closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath.

“I am just as much to blame for her death as Hannibal is. There are still times when I hate him for it, times when I can’t stand to look at him. But even still… we can’t be apart.” He finishes resolutely.

Joaquin narrows his eyes at the too simple answer, silently demanding clarification.

“I’m not a complete person without him. He gives my life an addictive clarity. And he can’t be without me,” he looks over his shoulder as if his husband would pop up any minute. “I caught a beast and tried to cage him but some things aren’t meant to be contained. Instead, I sought to tame him which, again, is impossible for a wild thing but with the threat of losing me, he learned to heel. He’d hate these animal training analogies but it’s the best description for it. Just like my dogs, I train them but that doesn’t mean I own them. It’s a mutual thing. I restrain his demon and he sets mine free.”

“How can you control someone you infer as demonic?” Joaquin has long stopped fishing in favor of staring at Will.

“With love and understanding.” Will scoffs, shaking his head at his own words. “I know that sounds cheesy and trite but that’s all it is. It won’t work for just anybody of course. He and I complement each other in a lot of ways.”

“Can’t live with him, can’t live without him,” Joaquin mutters.

 “Will Hannibal do me in then?” Will finally looks Joaquin in the eye and shakes his head.

“He won’t touch you, Keen. In fact, he doesn’t even need to know that you are aware of our past just yet.” Joaquin looks surprised at that.

“Unless you would like to tell him.”

Joaquin looks conflicted. He was almost resolved to die but now Will has changed the parameters. He's still curious, after all.

The day feels done so they pack up their equipment and the few fish they caught and head back to the house.

“Did you think I was going to kill you?” Will asks.

Joaquin shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe I wanted to be proved wrong.”

Will stops him with a hand on the arm before they cross the line of junipers. His throat swells with painful emotion.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Keen, ever. If you feel you need to tell anyone… I won’t stop you.” He whispers the last. It feels like a betrayal to his husband but he can’t drag another person, another child into their twisted world of lies and expect them to fall in line.

Joaquin smiles. “I’m afraid I’ve grown to not only enjoy your company and Mr. Wyman’s but I also crave the attention you both give me, not quite like oxygen but maybe a slight thirst for water. Now that my Gran is gone I find myself missing the love she gave me. You both manage to quench that a bit.”

Will smiles wide, causing a cascade of wrinkles from his mouth to his ears.

Joaquin’s smile slowly fades, he looks thoughtful. “No one besides my Gran calls me Keen...”

Will looks surprised at that but chuckles abashedly. “I honestly didn’t realize I was doing it. I'll stop-”

“No,” Joaquin says quickly, a small smile on his lips. “I don't think I mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	10. Juniper Incense and its Comforting Fug

Hannibal sees the kinship that has been growing between Will and Joaquin. There are still times he forgets who the younger man is but the pictures that hang in every room of their home help him in recalling his present.

He’s surprised at the lack of jealousy that usually comes with Will giving attention to another. He supposes children are different. At least now they are.

In the past, Will has forced him to speak aloud his jealousies, attempting to cajole his husband into admitting to his ugly, base humanity. He begrudgingly indulged Will but was ultimately glad for it as it brought them that much closer together.

Seeing Will teach Joaquin to fish or helping with his math homework causes a different protectiveness in Hannibal, one he can only assume belongs to fathers.

His partner may have finally found the child he’s always wanted and it brings a misty happiness to Hannibal's eyes at the beauty of their joining.

Joaquin visits on a Saturday, as usual, but there’ll be no fishing on this rainy day. Nor will they stay in the kitchen for cooking lessons. Today, he takes Joaquin on a tour of his sanctum.

Joaquin takes a few moments to look through the books that Hannibal has managed to re-collect over the years. His precious Dante sits in a plastic case as it slowly deteriorates; much like its owner.

The young man then moves on to the table littered with drawings at various degrees of completion, looking up with a smile when he finds one the old man had forgotten about; much to his embarrassment.

“I’d meant to finish it and perhaps gift it to you…” He stops his explanation, still loath to admit just how far his memory has fallen.

“It’s lovely. Just as she was,” Joaquin whispers as he brings the drawing of his Gran closer.

It was a scene from one of their dinners where she revealed her name to be Regina and told stories of how she’d pretend to be a queen amongst her siblings. _“I was a kind ruler,”_ she said, to their amused laughter. _“I believe it, Gran.”_ He’d replied.

He felt a tickle on his cheek, finding tears there.

“You look shocked by your own emotions, Joaquin." The young man thinks he hears a twinge of commiseration in Hannibal's voice, understanding in his expressive amber eyes.

“After gran died… I couldn’t cry. I was afraid I’d used up all the tears I had.” It’s an odd feeling, being happy that he still has the ability.

“The tenacity of our emotions can both be a hindrance and a blessing. I am happy to see the reverence you hold for them equals that which you hold for your great-grandmother.” Joaquin looks to him again and sees the sincerity usually reserved for Will. He knows it’s only a glimpse of the complex man but he can just make out how he kept his husband all these years.

“Can I ask a personal question, Mr. Wyman?” His curiosity can be a dangerous thing but after having been bold with Will and rewarded with a deeper connection, he wants the same with Hannibal.

“Please do, dear boy.”

“How did you and Mr. Wyman fall in love?” Hannibal looks surprised by the question but pleasantly so.

“It was a long and hard-won campaign. It started out as a terrible Grimm fairy tale but happily, we turned our fortunes and aligned our destinies.” Hannibal smiles, reveling in the memories that thankfully come easily but the good humor drains from his face when he continues.

“To be perfectly plain, we were both terribly damaged when I denied my feelings for him, my ability to feel at all really." Hannibal takes a seat in one of the plush chairs in front of his desk and beckons Joaquin to sit opposite him.

"Naturally, before I could remedy my mistakes he sought retribution which made me want him all the more. By the time I finally accepted the truth, that what I felt was love though marred by obsession, I had tried to harm him yet again." Hannibal shakes his head at the way he'd behaved; trying to force Will to bend beyond breaking.

“Later, I sent myself away though I wrote him often. Sometimes desperate, sometimes manipulative as old habits die hard. When he finally came to me, I found my beautiful Will in denial himself. What a pair we made." He says fondly.

"He didn’t show his usual rage for it, however, he was resigned if not disappointed which satisfied me at the time when we, at long last, were together. It took years for me to learn how to truly apologize and years still to accept his anger with me and allow him to grieve for the lives we left behind." Hannibal recalls the lives they've affected over the years finding himself in a room he had constructed for Abigail only to let it fall to ruin once he was forced to abandon both her and Will.

“Loving Will has been the greatest revelation of my life. One that I treasure more intensely than my own existence at this point…”  He trails off as if contemplating the enormity of this as Joaquin watches him, in shock. He hadn’t expected such a candid answer even one steeped in ambiguity. He felt almost guilty that he’d gotten the man to reveal his lover’s identity by mistake; almost. Theirs was a very beautiful story; with the gory bits left out.

Joaquin doesn’t know quite what to say now that he’s gotten his answer so he settles on simple honesty. “Thank you, Mr. Wyman. I never knew love could be so complicated nor how fulfilling.”

Hannibal comes back to himself and smiles, blessedly unaware of his confession.

The rest of the day is spent perusing the library as Beethoven quietly plays in accompaniment to their comfortable silence.

Dinner is prepared by Will once night consumes the sparse light of the stormy day. He delivers charcuterie with appropriate accouterments just as Hannibal finishes showing Keen his technique for creating shadow and light with charcoal and canvas.

Afterwards, Will places the viola in his husband's hands. Hannibal hasn’t played in months but when bow hits strings, this sense memory is still blessedly intact and his relief is felt by his companions as they watch the hard line of his shoulders relax.

The viola is more subdued than the violin. It's an instrument that one must be patient for, much like his illness as it forces the limits of his composure. This analogous realization surprises Hannibal even as it comforts him.

Will plays with the dogs as Hannibal becomes lost in a once forgotten composition and Joaquin reads on the floor by the fire. He grins, shaking his head when he sees it’s a translation of _The Divine Comedy_.

The atmosphere in Hannibal's study is filled to the brim with something Will has rarely admitted to wanting, needing. He catches Joaquin's eye and finds reciprocity there. They've both found family at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	11. For the Protection of Wounds

Days, then months pass and Joaquin is in his final year of secondary school. The husbands spend a day preparing a special dinner where they'll discuss his options for university.

Will had taken to recording all important dates on their calendar leading to Hannibal noticing the anniversary of their first meeting the young man was approaching so he resolved to create a meal to reflect the affection that's steadily grown over that time. It made Will’s heart swell that his husband was taking to Keen as much as he was.

Sometimes Will think of Abigail, comparing the two young people as though it were that simple. An impossible idea because where she had been bound to him in blood and pain, a broken connection at that as she never really took to him, Keen was kindred in a very different way.

He saw himself in Keen. The similar empathy that was no doubt strengthened by the powerful female figures in his life. He retained the kindness of his matriarchy but thankfully seemed to endure without the toxic darkness of his adoptive fathers.

After helping in the kitchen, Hannibal shoos Will off to shower and dress. Will steps under the water, running soapy hands over his chest and then freezes. His lungs ache before he realizes he’s stopped breathing. He steps out of the shower, leaving it running, standing before the mirror and staring back into his own haunted reflection.

His eyes roam over the scar tissue of his right breast where the surgeon took his nipple and a chunk of tissue. He runs his right hand over his left breast, finally noticing how thick it has gotten. He pushes firmly starting at the uppermost part of his breast, rubbing small circles down toward his nipple the way he was shown almost seven years ago after he’d gone into remission. It could just be a benign cyst but when he checks his nipples and fluid beads…

He finds the lump just beside his nipple. It doesn’t hurt. He wonders how he could have missed it.

He’s angry with himself for not checking in months, years when he really thinks about it. He stopped worrying because there was nothing to worry about. Until now.

He spares long minutes to mourn himself just as he had nine years ago when he’d been certain he was going to die.

But he’d lived.

He beat cancer before and he could do it again… but for what?

Hannibal had no cure coming to him. He’d be dead in a handful of years leaving Will to continue on alone?

His tears dried up quickly at that. He climbed back in the shower to wash them away and soothe his red, aching face.

He didn’t have to fight this time, he decides. If Hannibal is to die then so will he.

Hannibal will be able to appreciate the poetry of that; it might take time for the stubborn man but he’d see it was for the best.

Will leaves the shower as a calm settles over him now that he’s resolved his course of action. He dresses in the clothes Hannibal has set out. A blue button up to complement his eyes and tight grey slacks to show off his posterior. Will smiles, enjoying his husband’s antics wrapped in care.

He smiles at his reflection in the mirror, surprised that he can do it so easily. He doesn’t want to die of course. He still feels strong, young on a good day, but the idea of dying with Hannibal is beginning to sound more appealing the more he thinks about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	12. Juniper Smudge to Purify the New Initiate

Hannibal was very proud of himself. Enjoyment of everyday things comes fewer these days but cooking for his loved ones never fails to ground him, focus him.

He’d imagined digging up his favorite tartar recipes for tonight but instead, he chose a menu tailored to Joaquin’s tastes. Hannibal indulged in thoughts of serendipity when Will reminded him that he and the boy shared a love from Creole and Cajun fair.

Hannibal had grown to enjoy preparing variations of the food Will craved from his childhood and is thrilled to have a ready arsenal of bold dishes certain to satisfy Joaquin as well.

He plans to prepare a hearty gumbo with crab, sausage, and fresh okra he’d grown just for this occasion. Accompanied with Cajun seasoned prawns over gruyere smothered grits, grilled oysters Rockefeller, scallop hush puppies with remoulade and a lovely white chocolate drizzled lemon tart for dessert.

He’d written out the recipes, each and every step to ensure he got it right. He’d even asked Will to check them before he started and his husband had done so with a proud smile as if Hannibal needed to be commended for being proactive with his waning memory. Luckily, coddling from Will was often welcome.

He was just pulling the tart from the oven when Will comes around the corner salivating from the aromas permeating their home.

“ _Caro_ , you’ve outdone yourself. Everything smells perfect.” The excitement in his gently aging eyes fills Hannibal’s heart in equal measure to the praising of his culinary skills.

“Thank you, Will. I would very much appreciate you tasting everything to ensure it is up to my usual standards.” And again, Will smiles sweetly, never condescending, and gets to work.

“It’s perfect, _amore mio_.” Will says after licking gumbo juices from his lips. He sweeps Hannibal into a hug, offering a savory kiss. “Always perfect.” He murmurs before stealing a deeper kiss.

A throat clearing grabs their attention and they find a red-cheeked Joaquin standing in the kitchen doorway. “I can circle the block if you like.”

He isn’t too embarrassed to crack wise it seems and they both grin back before one more chaste kiss. Hannibal ushers them into the dining room so that he may plate everything to his liking.

The first course is served as Will pours the wine.

“A little for Joaquin too, don’t you think Will?” Hannibal says with a slight grin at his husband’s perplexed look.

Only Will’s more shocked at Hannibal’s calling his true name than giving a minor alcohol. He spares a quick glance at Keen who can only shrug.

“He’s underage, _caro_.” He says simply to hide his reaction.

“Only by a handful of months. The legal age is 18 here, darling.” Hannibal winks at Joaquin in victory.

“That’s true. I suppose you are old enough now for a little wine. Would you like to try some Keen?” the boy nods vigorously, proving his youth with his excitement. Will pours him two fingers and they laugh at his disgusted face when the dry wine washes over his unsophisticated palate.

The meal is a hit for all and a delight for Hannibal to watch how quickly and how much his boys eat. He isn’t certain they’ll have room for the pie.

They move to the sitting room where Keen requests Will play Marvin Gaye, a reminder of his Gran. ‘Got To Give It Up’ comes through the speakers and Will, somewhat loopy from the wine, pulls both his husband and Keen to dance.

Hannibal smiles wider than Keen has witnessed before. He wonders if Hannibal too has had a sip too many or if he's merely drunk on Will.

“Perfect fuckin' family, innit?” Everyone is startled at the unexpected voice, all eyes whipping around to see a man emerge from the shadowy hallway.

The interloper is as tall as Keen with the same brown eyes but where Keen's are ever thoughtful, this mans are bloodshot and full of contemptuous greed. His ivory skin is covered in cheep tattoos and he wears a loose-fitting tracksuit that belongs to another generation. He's clapping slowly as he leaves the dark behind.

Based on the utter terror written on Keen’s face, the husband's each surmise the intruder to be his father; the phantom that’s haunted Keen for years.

"Jon Morris, I presume," Hannibal says. Will steps towards the interloper but Hannibal pulls his lover behind him.

“Now that’s precious pops. Protectin’ your hubby and all but a bullet can tear through the both of ya just fine.” He quickly removes the gun from the waist of his pants, aiming it at Hannibal’s chest with a malicious grin.

“No!” Keen yells and hurries to stand in front of them but is halted by both men.

“There’s no need to worry ‘bout your fairy godfathers here boy. It’s you I’ve come for. Just a quick pop over to gran-gran’s and I’ll be away.”

Joaquin knew this day would come. When his father came to finish him off. “Ok. I’ll go just please don’t hurt them.”

“Keen,” Will says. His eyes look just like Joaquin’s mother’s had the night his father came home hopped up and beat her to death. He’d shot Keen’s grandma in the head with her own gun when she hurried out to save her daughter.

Keen had run and hidden in the hall closet, terrified, listening as his father passed by calling his name, tauntingly. He’d been on his way to Keen’s room when his Gran had shown up and blasted a round of buckshot into his leg. He ran off. They’d hoped he'd died, but the police never found a body.

He snaps back to the present when his father pulls him away with the gun pointing at his true dads.

“Play it cool, codgers.” The man laughs when Hannibal and Will take a step forward. “Ya wouldn’t want me to accidentally kneecap my boy here… or worse.”

“I’ll be ok,” Keen says, surprised by his own confidence. His father must think there's money hidden at the house. He won't find anything there but family documents and Gran's precious jewelry that has only sentimental value.

Keen realizes he's been far too lax these past months. It's a mistake he'll soon rectify when he gets the bastard home; when he gives him what he came for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what accent i'm trying for with the dad but i just used references from people i know around my way growing up... and i'm not British so that's weird lol
> 
> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	13. Burning Juniper Berries to Expel Unwanted Guests

Will isn't surprised by the calm beating of his heart as he watches the fucking pig drag his son through his front door. Nor when their car tires are shot and Keen is pushed into a beat-up sedan before it peels off.

He looks to Hannibal and sees the same expression mirrored on his husband's face before they quickly prepare themselves. Hannibal retrieves his carving scalpel and a knife while Will gets his gun and extra clips.

They meet in the garage, climbing onto Hannibal’s bike with Will the unspoken driver.

They tear through town, past neighbors who are as unaware about goings-on as ever.

They arrive at Keen's house running to the front door and finding it ajar.

Hannibal pushes his way through first but stops short at the scene within. Will pushes frantically at his back.

“What is it!?” He hisses the words out past a dry throat. He’s frantic and about to start yelling until Hannibal steps aside and he sees Keen standing over his father’s lifeless body, a pulpy mess where his head once was. Keen is panting heavily, shaking slightly but he still has the shotgun firmly pointed at the corpse as if waiting for his father to stand once more.

“I fu…” Keen breathes raggedly, “I fucking shot him twice in the head.” He looks up at Hannibal and Will, eyes wide, and gives them a smile that is quickly washed away by his tears.

“I had to do it. Ya don’t know what he done.” He slips into his Gran’s drawl as he drops heavily onto the couch to stare pleadingly at the two men who understand all too well.

They walk over to sit on either side of their distressed boy. Will takes the shotgun setting it and his own gun down on the coffee table. Hannibal follows suit with his weapons, then places a comforting hand on Joaquin’s back.

“Of course you had to, Joaquin.” Hannibal soothes as Will takes the boy’s hands into his own with a sad smile.

“Killing is the ugliest thing in the world. But defending yourself and your loved ones-“

“Avenging them,” Hannibal says fiercely to Will’s nod of agreement.

“You don’t have to feel that you’ve done something wrong-“

“I don’t. I feel like a weight’s been lifted. I’ve been sleeping next to a loaded gun for seven years… after Gran died I moved downstairs so I could hear an intruder easier. I had the gun just beside the couch, loaded. I only started leaving it loaded recently.” Keen says in wonder at his luck. “I’m glad I did it.”

“Keen," Will sighs. "Why didn’t you say anything?” Will asks, wringing their hands together.

“I didn’t want you to be hurt by mistake,” he says to Will before turning to Hannibal. “Either of you. I think it was supposed to be this way. Just him and me. I was too little the last time I saw him but I wasn’t about to let the bastard destroy the rest of my life.”

Will’s worry changes to pride, another emotion he sees mirrored in Hannibal’s eyes.

“I am sorry for not telling you but sometimes we need our secrets, don’t we?” The question is loaded but Will just pats Keen’s back to settle his worry at broaching this subject.

“Perhaps there is another secret to discuss,” Will says though he is nowhere near ready to reveal his own just yet.

“Are you speaking of the matter of Joaquin knowing who we are?” Hannibal says with a small smile.

Keen tenses and again Will settles him with a half hug and a smile. “How long have you known then, _caro mio_?”

“I can’t rightly say, I’m afraid. Likely I don’t always remember which has the potential for trouble later on. But for now, I am glad there are no more secrets between us.” He says hugging Joaquin and stroking Will’s cheek.

Will has to look away to swallow the guilt that arises from that.

“Now,” Hannibal claps his hands together, glee in his eyes. “Let’s quickly rid ourselves of this swine. Dessert is waiting for us after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	14. Meant to Halt the Spread of Infection…

Hannibal struggles to remember daily events now. He tries to fight it but the mechanism of familiarity is beginning to fail.

It's why he's taken to writing as much as he can down, the important things at least. Like the joy he felt after discovering their son had destroyed his own monster. Disposing of the remains afterward might seem too morbid a family activity but in Hannibal’s opinion, it was a wonderful bonding experience. He'd even drawn the scene the best he could, asking Will for any missing detail.

He knew was leaving damning evidence but it couldn’t be helped as his study began taking the place for his memory palace. Each piece of art or writing represented a room; recreated in defiance of his own mind’s betrayal.

Returning home that early morning they did devour Hannibal’s dessert at which point Joaquin asked if he was able to call them by their true names. He assured them he would use it only in private and Hannibal found that a rather quaint but undoubtedly pleasing idea. Will of course agreed.

Joaquin became their child that night. Borne from the carcass of his boorish father. His becoming was beautiful to behold and Hannibal cherished it.

Hearing their son call them by name felt as fathers and mothers must when their child first announces their recognition of them.

On his best days, when Hannibal has a good amount of his wits about him, he begins to notice how fatigued his husband is becoming and how familiar it seems. It started with a nap in the late morning which was understandable as his husband often woke early to feed the chickens and gather produce for the day.

It’s a couple months after that fateful night and Will now needs a second nap just before dinner as well. And that’s when the happiness of creating a new family is replaced by the familiar horrific fear of losing part of it.

It was like déjà vu when the realization hit Hannibal. He didn’t even stop to think. He ran straight to Will who was in the parlor listening to records with Joaquin.

“Hannibal, what is it?” Will says, immediately on guard at his husband’s frantic appearance, looking behind him for a threat.

Hannibal doesn’t answer. He just walks up to Will and buries his nose at his throat.

“You’re using more cologne,” Hannibal says hoarsely. Will tenses but doesn’t move.

“Maybe you should give us a few minutes to talk Keen-“

“No,” Hannibal says firmly. His eyes are wide and grim but determined. He lowers his head again and stops at the side of Will’s chest when he smells it. He pulls Will’s shirt up and lays hands there, shaking his head when he feels the lump. Will flinches at the choked sigh that escapes his husband’s throat.

Hannibal shakes his head, muttering things that no one but he comprehends. He can hear himself but he doesn’t recognize his own voice. He’s never felt so out of control in his life … or has he? He can’t remember feeling so helpless but then again, he can’t remember much right now. He knows he’s supposed to be Lloyd Wyman sometimes but mostly he’s Hannibal… or is it the other way around.

“Victor, I cannot… I can't seem…” But now he doesn’t know what he can’t do and the man in front of him looks so devastated and he knows it’s all his fault somehow but he can’t remember why so he rubs Victor’s arms and tells him over and over that it’s going to be ok, that he’d make it all better.

Will smiles at his husband’s words, trying to suppress the flinch at being called by his false name. He looks over at Keen who is stood clutching himself, fingers digging into the meat of his arms as he cries, quietly watching both of his dads’ crumbling before his eyes.

Will reaches a hand out for him and Keen hurries to take it and be pulled into the hug. The three of them stand in the parlor trying to comfort one another as forgotten music drones on in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.


	15. Interlude: Vapourized Oil to Heal the Sick

**May 29, 2030 – Salerno, Italy**

They had just gotten home from another round of chemo. Will felt terrible; he looked worse.

They go straight to bed, something they’ve done after each session but it’s on this night that the ritual is truly born. They hold one another lying face to face, staring into each other eyes while Otis Redding sings.

 _"I've been loving you too long_  
_I don't wanna stop now."_

The scene grows increasingly desperate as hands and mouths roam and comfort. Each man tastes the salt of tears on his lover. Each man chokes back pleas that are useless against Will's sickness.

It’s this night that Hannibal learns just how powerless he really is, how insignificant. It's humbling in the worst way but he doesn’t run from it the way he’d run from love in the past. He pushes down the disgust at his own weakness and resolves to do all he can to save his love and keep them together for as long as he can.

 

**December 29, 2038 – The Wymans’ Home**

Hannibal has been stuffing Will to the brim with cancer-fighting foods. He convinces him finally to see a doctor but Will refuses to go through chemo again.

“There is still no cure for Alzheimer's. Maybe there isn't meant to be one. Maybe we aren't supposed to live to be one hundred. I sure don't want to."

This sounds too much like suicide for Hannibal's liking. He feels anger settle low in his gut but lets his husband continue.

"When I felt the lump a couple months ago, I… I found it to be a sign. You have a few years maybe before the final stage when you won’t recognize us. And then years after that of just being a husk, not able to move or eat or… or think, until you die."

Hannibal finally lifts his head at the soft sound of crying. Will is clutching Hannibal's hand to his chest and stroking it in his despair and it instantly melts the icy rage attempting to form inside him. He moves closer on the bed to scoop his husband into his arms. He's lost so much weight already and his skin is so fragile that Hannibal worries he’ll bruise him. He kisses along his glistening, thinning hairline.

"It's a sign that my time has come too. We had a reprieve the last time Hannibal, maybe to help Joaquin as one last atonement for our past sins," he laughs at the sudden appearance of spirituality. "But I'm ready this time Hannibal. I want it to run its course and then I want us both to go with dignity before our illnesses can rob us of who we are." Hannibal stays silent, a common occurrence as of late, but he shows his understanding with the look of awe written clearly on his face.

“I'm Will Graham and you're Hannibal Lecter and we will always be." Will kisses his husband fiercely, hands caught in his silver hair. "I want to make a final tableau with you."

It's painfully beautiful and of course, it won Hannibal over instantly.


	16. Juniper to Feed the Body and Heart

Over the last several months a tentative truce has been affected. Will promised he had no more secrets, Joaquin settled the growing feeling of loss by spending even more time with his dads, and although Hannibal accepted Will's designs for them he continued feeding him as though silkie chicken soup with juniper berries could cure him.

Keen had spent weeks confused and somewhat angry with them both after that day in the parlor. Until the day he saw them sitting together on the porch wrapped in heavy blankets against the frigid early springtime air. Will leaned back against his husband as Hannibal massaged his chest with such deliberate care. Keen stayed quiet, watching as Will serenaded his doting husband with words meant only for him.

He knew then that they belonged to one another before they had belonged to him. He wanted to be jealous, selfish maybe but it was plain to see how they loved one another and he couldn’t imagine begrudging the pair their perfect death.

Keen has always contemplated death and its many forms. His life has been surrounded by more murder than most after all. Once he accepts their fates he wonders what methods they'll choose.

He also wonders at how easily he can look upon death; his Gran, his father. Sometimes he worries that he's becoming too much like his adoptive dads; sometimes he worries he's not enough like them, not strong enough. And who is he most like, in that regard? The unrepentant murderer with an endless desire for vengeance or the killer who finds his skill as ugly as it is useful.

He works up the courage to bring his thoughts up to Will who assures him that he can be whoever he wanted to be… simple as that. But maybe Joaquin doesn't want to decide. Maybe he wants the choice taken from him. To be given purpose that matched one of his dads’.

“Don’t idolize us Joaquin, whatever you do,” Will plead. “We don’t deserve it and you’re already off to a much better start than either of us.”

Hannibal, on the other hand, wasn’t ashamed to encourage Joaquin to follow in his footsteps. He’d written down his training regimen from when he was the boy’s age as well as showing him a few tricks with a knife. He wanted to encourage Joaquin to cultivate the self-preservation he’d demonstrated with his father.

March rolls around and Will insists on a dinner for Joaquin's 18th birthday even though the younger man insists he doesn't want a fuss. He relents easily enough, however. He doesn't tell either of them that he's made friends at school that he could enjoy the night with because he'd much prefer another memory spent with his dads.

“I think a toast is in order,” Will says from his cushioned seat in the parlor. He coughs a little into his handkerchief and before he can recover Hannibal stands to make the speech for him.

“To our keen young man,” Hannibal says raising his glass. “We could never have predicted this opportunity, witnessing you adapt, evolve, and become. And just who will you be, dear Joaquin? That is for you to decide yourself but know that you have certainly become our son.

“This is the second time I have been so blessed to have another person see me, but it’s the first time I didn’t run from it outright. None of us can say what the future holds but I thank you for the time you have given us both because you have enriched our lives beyond measure. Our hope is that the love and pride we have for you will stay with you for years to come. That you aren’t haunted by this bond we’ve cultivated but emboldened by it. You deserve the best this world has to offer Joaquin, we know you will do great things.”

Will and Keen are surprised at the beautiful and thoughtful words from a man who is often trapped inside the remaining parts of his memory. They each wipe tears from flushed cheeks before finally completing the toast by taking sips of their glasses and saluting Hannibal.

“On a lighter note,” Will says after finishing his wine. “Here is your main birthday gift.”

“The new clothes, art supplies, and fly-tying kit weren’t enough, eh?” Keen smiles cheekily as he opens up the small box to find a set of car keys. His mouth drops open in shock.

“Well, we decided we had to make up for missing your birthday last year and every year before that.” Will said in response to Keen’s surprise.

“I can’t believe… you bought me a car?!” He leaps up and hugs them both fiercely. His dads chuckle, eagerly sharing his joy.

“You- you have to-” Hannibal gets lost in the middle of his sentence and he looks to Will who shushes his growing upset, soothing his husband with a gentle touch and a smile.

"We wanted to make sure you could visit, Keen." Will finishes.

"Of course," Joaquin says fiercely as he hugs a muddled Hannibal to match. "I'll come home as much as I can."


	17. To Counteract Ghost Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Among the southwestern Pueblos, junipers were believed to counteract 'ghost sickness,' a malady which afflicted bereaved relatives or people who handle the bodies of the dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary was taken from http://www.native-languages.org/legends-juniper.htm

Keen visits the very first weekend after the fall term has started.

He’s a ball of energy and looks like a completely different person in spite of only having been away for a few weeks to set up his new flat near campus.

Some of his excitement wanes when he sees the dark circles under Hannibal’s eyes but lets it alone when he’s given a tight hug. But when he sees Will… he finally **sees** him.

Keen had watched the pair’s slow deterioration over the summer but being gone for nearly a month and coming back… the reality of their illnesses sets in.

Will must have lost at least 30 pounds since they first met two years ago. He wrinkles that appear when he smiles are even more deeply etched now as he beckons Keen to sit beside him.

“I know how I look, trust me.” Will tries to say light-heartedly. He’s hooked up to the IV Hannibal purchased on their last trip to the doctor. Keen smiles but it’s the falsest smile he’s ever worn and it makes him want to vomit.

“Don’t waste time on me, Keen. Tell us about your first week. We’ve been dying to hear about it.”

The mostly unintended pun earns a true laugh from Hannibal and Keen both until that pure emotion too is muddled with the gravity of those words. Keen bites his lip as he leans into his dad and hugs him tightly while weeping into his limp hair. Will makes shushing noises and massages his scalp through Keen’s thick curls, Hannibal stands behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he too cries.

It’s a good 20 minutes before their sadness is sated enough to at least attempt normal conversation.

“Classes are good so far. Professors are ok I suppose. And umm… I’ve made a friend I think, so…” Keen grins a little thinking about the boy who often has lunch with him now.

“I wonder what that smile means,” Will says with a chuckle.

“Nothing, I’ve just… made a friend in my history class. He shares a love of the classics.” He says to Hannibal trying to appeal to his passions in order to change the subject.

“Hmhmm,” Will hums. “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that he’s cute while talking about those classics.”

Hannibal chuckles as Joaquin becomes flustered before accepting the truth.

“Ok, yes he’s quite… nice, but we haven’t-“

“You’ll never know until you try.” Will cuts him off with a knowing grin. Keen responds by rolling his eyes but smiling back.

\---

The weekend moves quickly and, too soon, Keen is saying goodbye. Once he’s gone Hannibal moves to his usual position, lying beside Will.

“We were very lucky this weekend Hannibal. I’m afraid of what might happen next time.”

Hannibal closes his eyes tightly against the ever-present fog of shame lingering around him.

Hannibal's palace is nearly demolished. Some of the rooms still hold precious memories but accessing them is the real trouble. He bloodies his hands against doors that have molded shut. He screams in the foyer of his palace until one of the doors mercifully opens to allow him in. He tries to bring Will into each room, to force his mind to always remember his beautiful husband. But not even he can overpower dementia.

Before Joaquin’s visit, he’d had his worst episode yet. He’d woken in the morning, turned to his husband of 16 years, and saw a stranger. He’d risen from the bed quickly, looking around in confusion before seeing the pictures of himself and the man in the bed placed around the room and throughout the house.

Hannibal destroyed the room in a confused rage. He sees the man, his husband, cry quietly in their bed but he couldn’t accept it for long hours. When he came back to himself he found Will passed out from exhaustion, thirsty and weak. Hannibal wanted to end it then. He was utterly disgusted with himself causing his lover even more pain than he was already enduring.

“I just want more time with him, to see what Keen grows into. I'm being selfish but I want to see him a little bit more." Will continues.

"As do I, _tesoro mio_." Hannibal's throat cracks at the thought of harming Joaquin or Will in his next episode but he understands perfectly; they’re running out of time. “The new pills seemed to be working but I can’t trust myself anymore. I can’t help you anymore.”

"You can and do help me, Hannibal. You may not remember me but you always manage to find your way back soon enough.” Will pulls Hannibal closer. He smiles and cups his husbands face before growing resolute.

“But it’s time to prepare. I’m ready to go, _caro mio_.”

“As am I, Will.” Hannibal sighs sadly.


	18. To Anoint the Body in Juniper Oil and Love

Their home is ready to burn.

Joaquin came back up the following week with petrol and moving boxes Will asks for when he calls midweek.

Together, he and Hannibal pack away books and artwork from Hannibal’s office for Keen to keep. They haul everything to be saved to the shed 30 meters away on the north side of the property.

There are times that Hannibal stops in his tracks and stares hard at Keen before resuming his task. Keen is wise to worry because this man is Hannibal Lecter and the only person who might be able to stop him is laying on his deathbed.

The sense of urgency grows after that, the atmosphere tainted with the fear of Hannibal losing all of his recent memory. Keen picks up all of Will’s vinyl records and reaches for the player but is stopped by Hannibal.

“I’m sorry Joaquin but we must keep the record player… and this.” He says, plucking an album from Joaquin’s hands.

Keen only smiles. He understands how important this music is to them.

It’s lunchtime when they finish with the parlor so, while Hannibal prepares food for Will, he insists that Joaquin take one more lap of the cottage to collect anything else he would like.

Keen goes to the kitchen first. He stands in the place he learned to cook, albeit from a man who is renowned for the cooking of people. He’s certain this will all affect him later on in life but right now all he can do is regret never cooking with Hannibal again. His throat feels tight as he collects some of the cookware, a recipe box, and of course, his dad’s knives.

They’ve already moved the car and motorcycle from the garage, parking them beside the shed. The dog’s and their things and rubbish bags full of his dads’ clothes are all packed in Keen’s own car along with the records and Hannibal’s drawings.

It’s almost time to say goodbye. To the cottage, to the people within. But it hurts more than Keen thought it would. They’ve been plotting this for months now. Why does it have to hit him all at once that he’s losing his dads tonight?

\---

Will wakes to the smell of flowers. He opens his eyes to find he’s surrounded by them. Aster, chrysanthemums, purple lilacs, sunflowers. He tries to inhale deeply to enjoy their scents but is halted by a bought of coughing resulting in blood splattered sheets.

The tender pain in his chest and ache in his lungs is ever present but dulled enough that he can focus outside of his body for the first time in days. He can hear his boys getting things together and he hates that he can’t help.

Hannibal comes in around one with a light broth for lunch. Will chuckles because of course his husband wants to make sure he’s fed on their final day together.

"Good morning, _tesoro mio_." Hannibal says, setting down the tray and sitting on the bed. He sees the blood but ignores it, nothing to be done for it now.

"It's afternoon, Hannibal," Will says smiling dreamily at his husbands attempt to downplay his sleeping in. "I feel better today- well, still tired, but a lot of the pain has dulled."

Hannibal smiles sadly as he kisses Will's clammy forehead.

"You're glowing." He can't say it above a whisper. His boy always looked lovely like this; rosy-cheeked, sweating clinging to his ever curly hair. Hannibal wonders if he’s seeing any ominous visions or if the true world is too ominous enough already.

"A fever?" Will asks with a hint of wonder; he hadn't thought of that.

Hannibal only nods as he licks his lips trying to bring moisture to his dry mouth. He looks at Will's lips too and, seeing them cracked, retrieves the cup of water and angles the straw for Will to drink.

Hannibal then manages to get the entire contents of the small bowl of into Will, ensuring he’s consumed every drop.

"Almost ready?" Will asks with a grin, tears in his eyes that match the ones that Hannibal tries to hide. But Will isn’t crying for himself; his husband’s always been beautiful like this, taking such good care of him.

“Almost rea-.” Hannibal nods. Will watches worriedly as his husband’s focus suddenly wanes and it’s heartbreaking like always.

“Hannibal. Stay with me, we’re so close. Just a little while longer. Once Keen leaves, ok?” Will reaches for him but Hannibal brushes him off, standing and then pacing the room.

Will tries to soothe him again but his voice is stolen by another round of coughing, blood spraying over his fist. Hannibal freezes, staring at Will but seeing a stranger. Will reaches for his glass of water to calm his own attack but Hannibal moves quickly to knock it from his hands. He jumps on Will and is growling something in Lithuanian that Will can’t understand because now his husband’s hands are at his throat and he’s choking and he’s clawing trying to get away because it wasn’t supposed to be like this, not ugly like this…


	19. Beware The Juniper's Needles

“Hannibal!” Keen’s scream cuts through the snarling and sputtering noises in the otherwise quiet room. Hannibal turns and lunges for him instead, forcing Keen to hit his dad with the bundle of kindling he carries. He sees the bloodlust tinged confusion in Hannibal’s eyes and he knows he has to get away.

Hannibal gets his hands on Keen’s head and is about to twist when he suddenly crumbles to the floor, Will stands unsteadily on his feet behind him, the bedside lamp falling from his shaking hands. Air rushes back into Joaquin’s lungs as he scrambles to catch Will before he falls.

“I’m so sorry Keen,” Will cries, as his son helps him back into bed.

“It’s ok dad.” Tears fall as he clutches Will tightly, desperately. The bedroom feels crowded with emotion as they no longer fear an inelegant death but the one they’ve planned for.

“I love you, Keen. I love you so much, I hope you’ve known that even though we don’t say-“

“Yes!” Keen whispers fiercely, shock written plainly on his face. “You’ve never shown me anything but love… I just. I can’t stop wishing this wasn’t happening. Or at least I’d met you sooner. Or… I don’t even know what to say! I wasted all this time, I should have thought of what to say to you…“

Keen’s throat feels like it’s closing as he tries to tell Will how much he means to him.

“You don’t have to say anything, _cuore mio_. I know.” Will offers a watery smile, running a thumb over Keen’s wet cheeks.

Keen sniffles a little, calming down. “ _Cuore_ … heart?”

“ **My** heart.” Will whispers as he weakly pulls Keen to lay on his chest, over the side that battled cancer and won.

“You don’t have to say anything now. You can talk to me whenever you want, in here,” Will says pointing to Keen’s temple.

“I’ll be there with your mom, nana, granddad, and gran. We’ll be loving you from there, Hannibal too." Will swallows harshly at that. "Please, try to remember him before…”

“Of course.” Keen ensures. “You’re both my dad’s. I love you both.”

Will smiles happily at that but the expression falls and Keen knows the time has come. He gathers the items that had fallen, placing the twigs around the bed. Will notices for the first time that the room is littered with branches from Hannibal’s precious Juniper trees.

Keen then kneels at Hannibal’s side. He’s bleeding from the back of his head but looks so much at peace that Keen wouldn’t have him any other way. He grips his dad around his chest and then drags him to the bed, hefting him into it beside his husband who tries to help pull him in. Will arranges him into a more comfortable position and inches closer to the unconscious man.

Words still sit perched under Keen’s chin but he can’t force them out over the lump in his throat. He’s blubbering like a baby and in that moment, that’s what he is. He’s lost all of his family and it just isn’t fair that he loses his adoptive one as well.

“It’s time to go, Keen. Remember what I said, what we’ve said. You can be whoever you want to be in this life. We love you, Keen.” Will isn’t holding back his weeping any longer either. He reaches across Hannibal to embrace his son one last time. Hannibal twitches with the movement, eyes crack open and Will tries to brace for a fight.

Hannibal suddenly sits up, disoriented. His looks from Keen to Will and then pulls him closer, taking in how very tired his husband is, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Have I ruined everything?” he asks uncharacteristically timid.

“No, _caro_. You’ve come back just in time.” Will’s smile falters and he slumps against Hannibal, exhausted.

Hannibal holds him tight before looking back to Joaquin and seeing the fear in his young eyes.

“I hurt you.” He states.

“You almost did. Will stopped you.”

“Of course he did.” Hannibal’s smile wobbles before he turns serious eyes back to the boy.

“I’m… I’ll light the… the pyre.” Joaquin whispers past an aching gullet.

“I know you will Keen, I trust you,” Hannibal says hoarsely, reaching for the young man. Keen goes to him without thinking, all fear washed away when he hears his nickname from Hannibal’s lips.

“I’m so sorry, my boy.” They hold each other tighter than ever before, tears burning down their cheeks, Will still nestled at Hannibal’s side, in and out of consciousness.

“I want you to live well, do you understand? I want you to be true to yourself and stay the strong young man that I’ve grown to love. I will be waiting for you in the study of your memory palace, Joaquin.”

Keen smiles brightly at that. “Will said that too.”

“Of course he did.” Hannibal chuckles, squeezing Keen one final time as Will reaches out to grasp for the boy as well.

“Goodbye, _cuore mio_.” Will says gazing tiredly, lovingly at Keen.

“ _Si. Grazie, figlio mio_.” Hannibal says fondly.

Keen nods and gets to work. First, he lays the record on the turntable and drags the needle to where he knows their song is by heart.

He retrieves a canister of petrol and douses the kindling around the walls and floor, lighting the furthest corner so he has time to get out. He purposefully saves the branches around the husbands for last. They lay in their marriage bed whispering to each other as lovers do. Will looks up at Hannibal with such love that Keen takes a moment to commit it to memory. Finally, he lights the branches around them and hurries from the room, not looking back again.

He moves through each room of the house, throwing the gasoline on the walls and furniture, tossing lit matches in his wake.

He leaves through the back door and heads to his car parked alongside mementos of his dads’ lives. The dogs bark, happy to see him. He climbs in the back seat and lets them lick the tear tracks of his cheeks to their hearts content. It’s a small comfort but he’s happy for it nonetheless.

Within minutes the roof begins smoking. Joaquin’s chest aches knowing what else is burning within. He intended to stay but he can’t bear it anymore. He calms the dogs and climbs out of the car to load a few more boxes from the shed. He’ll come back later for the rest.

He gets into the driver’s seat and spares a quick glance back at the steadily burning house. He isn’t worried about the fire spreading to the wood, the house is a good ways from even the junipers. He even called the local fire brigade to warn of their intentions; not of a funeral pyre but of a controlled blaze nonetheless.

It’s a short drive to his gran’s house but the long night ahead will make up for that. For now, he tries to focus on the road as the sun begins to set. He tries not to think about who he’s driving away from; to keep the ache from collapsing his lungs as sure as his fathers' home will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> cuore mio - my heart
> 
> Si. grazie, figlio mio - yes. thank you, my son


	20. The Ritual of Incantation with the Bounteous Yew

Will lays motionless on the bed as Hannibal and Keen have their final moment together. He tries to calm the pain of leaving his child behind and instead focuses on the love his husband and son exchange.

Soon enough, Hannibal is arranging him at the center of the bed, hovering over him. Then, the room is filled with music that has Will sighing in relief.

 _“…You were tired and you want to be free_  
My love is growing stronger, as you become a habit to me  
Oh I've been loving you a little too long  
I don't want to stop now…”

Will blinks away tears as the scent of burning reaches his nose.

“So that’s what your Junipers smell like…” Will whispers dreamily. He’d smelled the living trees before but burning as they are now… the scent is more than he could have imagined. ‘ _The wood itself is aromatic and can be used not only to smoke food.’_  Hannibal had said when they first walked among them. It makes Will smile now; that they will be perfectly seasoned to his husband's liking.

“They are yours, _caro mio_. They always were.” Hannibal whispers as he kneels to remove his shirt, needing skin contact, one last time. He unbuttons Will’s pajamas and then lays beside him, gently running fingers over his swollen chest. He’s touched Will like dozens of times but just once more could never be enough.

He replaces fingers with lips as he traces around the telling lesions that have formed on his love. He kisses up Will’s neck before claiming his lips the best he can as both sets quiver.

For the hundredth time, he bemoans his powerlessness but shakes it off like a too warm coat. He smells the petrol Keen is throwing around the room so he halts his regrets and just enjoys his beautiful husband for the last time.

They had discussed extensively their options for death. At first, Will had wanted simply to burn with the man beside him but Hannibal couldn’t stomach the idea. After all these years of pain, some by his own hand, he couldn’t stand to see his Will suffer. So Hannibal persuaded his husband a final time. They were given ‘euthanasia’ drugs by a doctor; an overdose of barbiturates that would put Will into a coma before killing him peacefully. He mixed the deadly solution into the broth he had made Will drink.

“I’m really tired now, Han…” Will whispers, smiling in a way that forces Hannibal back to their first meetings. When his smiles were uncertain yet sitting so handsomely on his lips.

“I must thank you, _tesoro mio_ , for these wonderful years you’ve given me. Such happiness that I never could have predicted would be mine.”

Vaguely he hears Joaquin leave but he doesn’t worry for him; right now, there is only his _amore_.

Will continues to smile, surrounded by warmth and love. Suddenly his eyes widen, shimmering and exquisite as he looks behind Hannibal, eyes going in and out of focus.

"It's…” Will says hoarsely. “It's…" But he doesn’t finish. He goes limp in Hannibal's arms, eyes bright and alive until they aren't.

Hannibal holds him as the last breaths leave his body. He wails into the quiet room and for a moment, he prays that there is a heaven and that Will is allowed to be there above him now as a beautiful angel watching him break this way for him, only for him.

He gathers Will to his chest. Kissing his unmoving lips and nuzzles his still warm neck.

He staves off his rising panic to grab the scalpel that’s only ever sharpened his pencils. He rolls onto his back to look up at what his husband had seen in his final moments. The fire has already consumed the roof. It's dancing across the rafters, rippling as he finishes Will’s last words, "It's beautiful."

He hovers over Will again, stroking his warm cheek before gripping tightly the blade in his hand and sliding it across his own throat.

Blood rains down, crimson paint falling on the beautiful canvas of his lover. He sputters from the wound and his lips but Hannibal stays calm. He couldn’t resist this final selfish act; to see his beloved bathed in blood as it pools about him like wings.

"You're beautiful…" Hannibal mutters as he drapes himself across Will once more.

He smiles as he retreats into his memory palace a final time, their life together flashing as quickly as the blood drains from his body.

He visits Palermo where Will found him in attempt to return his smile.

He struggles to pull his _amore_ closer as he enters the room where they first accepted their love for each other.

His body grows cold from blood loss but he is warm in the room where he and Will summered on a remote beach in Marettimo, Sicily for Will's 50th birthday. He'd never laughed so much in the sunlight. His Will teaching him again what happiness was.

By the time the flames are licking his heals he had just walked into his old Baltimore office. Sat across from Will as they often did for their talks. He recalls the moment he knew he was in love with the man but carried on with his plans even still.

His legs are roasting as the mattress catches fire but he's still in his office. Only this time he embraces the love he's found; doesn't run from or try to snuff it out.

He quickly imagines scenes from a life where he’d stopped his foolishness before it started. Where Abigail was their daughter. Where Alana, Jack, Beverly and the others attend their wedding and tease them both over how moon-eyed they were for each other. He imagines convincing Will to quit the FBI and run away with him.

Regrets are fleeting as the flames alight them both and try to work between the grooves of their bodies. Hannibal should be weak from blood loss, too weak to fight the fire, but he refuses to let go of his lover. He wants to feel every burning inch pressed against him.

He doesn't know when shock first set in but he knows that’s the only reason he can now witness the crisping skin of his lover and fall in love all over again at his beauty even in death.

It's not much longer after that when Hannibal’s innards finally cook and he's gone.

Their bodies blacken and crack and hiss as the cottage continues to smolder and fall around them.


	21. Epilogue - Juniper Oil for Healing

Joaquin enters the remnants of a place he once called home, to find the bodies of the men he called dad.

He drove on autopilot to his Gran’s house to leave the dogs and unpack the car the night before. He woke with the same dread he’d passed out with and couldn’t waste any time eating breakfast or finding clean clothes so he donned the jeans that smelled of petrol and the sweater that smelled of smoke and flowers.

He walks from his Gran’s house to pick up the Bentley along with the rest of his 'inheritance'.

He thinks about the boy from class whom Will had known was special to him. He had imagined introducing him to his dads but there just hadn’t been time. He wondered if, in time, they could fall in love. The kind that Hannibal shared with Will. The all-consuming fire of love, trust, pain, and lust.

Keen recalls telling Dom that his fathers were both dying and the concerned look on his lovely full face. His heavy-lidded onyx eyes stared up at him in a way that was reminiscent to how his dads looked at one another, worry heavy with affection.

He arrives at the house just as the sun rises, cutting through the tree line to find the charred remains of the cottage. The wind has been building all night and he watches as it begins to fuss with the debris.

He avoids the destroyed front entrance and heads around the side to the kitchen door he left open. He doesn't overthink what he's about to do, just wraps his scarf over his mouth and nose and enters.

Hannibal’s kitchen is covered in black, his trainers disturb the soot on the floor.

The parlor is inaccessible; completely blocked with fallen beams so he heads to the dining room to access the stairs but there’s no need. His mouth falls open in a gasp when he sees that their bedroom has toppled to the first floor, their bed rests on the now toppled dining table.

Their bodies are partially preserved in cinder. Burnt and cracked, all except the entwined hands that hang off the bed, unburnt. The tableau is shocking, grotesque, horrific... but to Keen, it is the most beautiful scene of love he's ever been witness to.

It will stay with him, this haunting beauty, for years to come. He’ll wonder later if this kind of love is even possible outside of Hannibal and Will’s tragic story. A love born like a phoenix from the ashes of their past atrocities, destined to blaze once more before laying to rest.

He'll become obsessed with this image. Only quelled by spending summers in Italy, studying where Hannibal once did, to paint this scene on canvas embellished with angels and demons looking jealously down at the lovers aflame in their passion.

He’ll later look beside him to his boyfriend Dom, realizing so much of what he’s searched for after his parents’ deaths had been beside him all along.

He inches closer, carefully climbing over felled beams and rubbish that promises lockjaw. He reaches out to touch the now cooled, brittleness that he assumes is Hannibal's shoulder. The ash easily gathers on his fingers and he deposits some into a small jar with some of Will as well. He knows his dads won't mind this morbidity from him; they'd understand.

He stays long minutes just watching the mass of their burned bodies. He closes his eyes and he sees them in the cottage as it once was. They lounge in the parlor as Hannibal moves from his viola to the clavier that he’d always talked about getting. Will teaches him yet another casting technique before switching the record to _The White Album_.

He opens his eyes, smiling bittersweet as he takes his leave.

He loads the car quickly with the remaining items in the shed including a young tree he saved in terra cotta pot.

Hannibal had told him one summer day as they walked the border of the land that the juniper _"_ _…is precious to the Hopi as well. They believe that the spirit of the caretaker of the Earth travels with the juniper..."_

Keen will keep this tree and forever imagine his dads traveling with him.

The wind picks up suddenly, pulling ash into the air, stopping him from climbing into the car. Tears fall unnoticed as he watches the cinders drifting with the breeze as the lovers dance forever together among the juniper trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's final quote: https://puakaihealing.com/earth-wisdom-juniper-tree/

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed this journey and can picture me hysterically crying while writing this. Just picture Diane Keaton in "Something's Gotta Give" that should do it.
> 
> Drop me a line anytime on tumblr @dread-pirate-westley
> 
> Critiques help me grow... mean comments make me toot. Just fyi.
> 
> Chapter titles and juniper knowledge are taken from the following websites:
> 
> https://www.whitedragon.org.uk/articles/juniper.htm  
> https://www.organicfacts.net/health-benefits/essential-oils/health-benefits-of-juniper-essential-oil.html  
> http://www.native-languages.org/legends-juniper.htm  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/52635889369661526/  
> http://puakaihealing.com/earth-wisdom-juniper-tree/ 


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